New York Billionaires Series

“Reputations won’t pay the bills,” Victor says. But he’s flipping through the paper with interest. “It has good bones, though. We could sell off the parts.”

“Not yet. Let me try to build something on those bones first.”

“Can’t hurt to try,” Tristan says. “We all knew the Globe would be amongst the hardest companies we ever tried to turn. It’ll be a damn feather in a cap if we do, though.”

“It’s not like we bought a profitable consulting firm that we just expanded,” I say. It’s a low punch, perhaps, but for the past years both Tristan and Victor have served separate terms as CEO of Exciteur Consulting. It’s now the world’s third-largest consulting firm. But it had already been the seventh when they began.

Tristan snorts. “Noted.”

“I’ll attend the Reporters’ Ball next weekend,” I say. “We all know there will be plenty of traditional donors there. I’ll schmooze, show them the new leadership. Might help us tide things over for a while.”

“Sounds like a good place to start,” Tristan says.

Victor crosses his arms across his chest. “Anthony would be on my side, were he here.”

“Perhaps, but he’s not,” I say. Our fourth partner has finally taken an overseas vacation with his fiancée Summer, and the two of them had gone completely off the grid for three weeks. I know exactly which one of the two had been responsible for that decision.

But I also know they’re visiting Winter Hotels for his brother, inspecting a few of the hotel chain’s new luxury locations. What a sacrifice.

“I don’t know,” Tristan says. “Anthony’s family has long supported the Globe as donors. He might be emotionally attached.”

Victor shakes his head like we’re all idiots.

“We stay the course,” I say, “for at least three more months. I’ll keep you informed. But there are still changes to be made, and possible profit in the future, and I’m not willing to give that up.”

“Fine by me.” Tristan pushes the papers with the Globe ‘s latest numbers away. Conversation finalized, he shoots Victor a smile. “Freddie and I got the save-the-date.”

Victor nods, looking toward the windows. “Good. Well, if you’ve got the time, you’re welcome.”

“Of course we’ll be there,” Tristan says. “You two cheated us all out of a proper wedding ceremony, so this is the least you can give us.”

I grin at Victor. He’s so obviously uncomfortable talking to us about this, try as he does to hide it, and it’s hilarious. The man has no ability to handle the public aspect of his marriage.

But I’ve seen him with his wife Cecilia. When he thinks nobody’s looking, he’s a different man entirely.

“I’ll be there too,” I say, having already blocked off time in my calendar for their vow renewal. “Have to make sure it’s a real party.”

Victor frowns. “It’s not a big thing. Small, just family and a few friends.”

“So much the better for my dance moves,” I say.

He stares at me for a long moment before he sighs, realizing I’m joking. Tristan chuckles and pushes back from the table. He’s in the process of purchasing a medical company, although one that will require a little oversight. “Gentlemen,” he says. “Always a pleasure.”

“Likewise,” I say.

Victor doesn’t comment, and I grin at him again. He rolls his eyes. I had no siblings growing up. It was me and my mother, living together in a one-bedroom in Queens, and the relationship I have with my co-partners is something I value.

Despite pretending not to care most of the time.

I head out of the office soon after. The Globe needs more hands-on time than I’d like in these early stages. Truth be told, the numbers had been awful. Abyss-level awful. But I’d meant what I said. The paper has too much history for us to give up so soon.

A brunette with bouncing curls and blue eyes flashes through my mind, too. Her sharp mouth and eyes that seem to look straight through me. This job clearly means a lot to her.

I don’t want to be the reason she loses it.

Just thinking about her makes me smile. She’s a paradox. A spitfire with me, but nervous to the point of hyperventilating with others. I don’t know why that makes me feel ten feet tall.

She’d agreed to being friends. Just friends, in fact, which is likely for the best. Not only is she an employee, but she’s sweet, and ambitious, and passionate. Anything with her would be serious, and I don’t know how to handle something that is. Never had it before.

And yet, absolutely none of that stops me from texting her on my way to the Globe ‘s offices.

Carter: Do you have your date with the piano teacher tonight?

She answers right away. She shouldn’t, because it’s during work hours, but I fully encourage this use of company time.

Audrey: No, it was postponed until Wednesday.

Carter: Who postponed?

But even as I wait for her answer, I’m pleased with her response. I shouldn’t be, and I know that very well. But here I am regardless.

She takes a long time to answer. Long enough that I return to work, swatting away the incoming emails. They’re always one missed swat away from overwhelming the inbox.

An email comes up with a reminder for the Reporters’ Ball. It’s this weekend. Man, Audrey would have a field day. An entire evening of press-themed mingling, with the guest list a mile long and so illustriously decadent. She should go. But the invites are closely guarded, and coveted, and I doubt I have the clout necessary to pull some strings.

To the best of my knowledge, only a few people from the Globe are attending, and they’re all senior with a capital S.

My phone chimes again. It’s a distracting way to work, texting with her, but I wouldn’t change it.

Audrey: He did, he had to fill in for another teacher tonight. Huge sigh of relief for me.

Carter: Still gets your nerves going, huh. What will you do instead? Go home and watch back-to-back documentaries about political scandals?

Audrey: Lol. I know it doesn’t seem like it but I have a few other interests outside of my job. Emphasis on “a few,” though.Content from NôvelDr(a)ma.Org.

Yes, and that’s just it. She’d love the Reporters’ Ball.

Fuck, I wish I could take her as my date. My invite includes a plus-one, but I can’t ask an employee. And even if I could, I’d mentioned the event to Becca weeks ago, a long-term friend with occasional benefits. She’d said yes before I met Audrey. But it was in a casual way, a mutually beneficial way. She loved fancy events and I liked having someone there to talk to who wasn’t interested in my industry opinions. Now it seems like a waste of both our time.

Audrey would appreciate it more.

“Spitfire,” Booker says. It’s a week later, and the nickname shows no signs of fading. “Get the draft of the Decker story to me by lunch tomorrow?”

“On it!” I say.

“Declan, how’s the research for Emery coming along? Give me an ETA.”

“Just dotting some i’s,” he replies. “I’ll forward it to Emery before I leave for the day.”